Words are magic their power over me is incomparable, they can be used to evoke emotion, arousal and, in the right hands, compliance. I love words.

I also love the sounds of sex, from the breathless catches of early connection to the full on screams of release and everything in between, I am aurally aroused.

Do you hear what I hear…?

The first I am aware that I’m not alone is when I’m ceased from behind. A loud growling rumbles against my neck menacingly, hot breath against my skin. I freeze, senses heightened, a playful sense of scared making my heart race.

A second to absorb the impending threat then his hands are everywhere, roughly kissing and biting my neck, savage and snarling, forcing my head back to kiss him whilst he slides his other hand down the front of my skirt. His kisses are sloppy but forceful, never ceasing the untamed beastly growl from his throat that speaks of something primitive and wild.

This same action without his guttural, primal exhalations wouldn’t have the same effect. Wouldn’t make me rampant within the space of seconds, either melting in his arms or growling and pouncing with equal ferocity. The messages conveyed by that wild barbaric growl are animalistic.
“I have to have you now, I’m not thinking. I don’t need words, I need you…I’m going to take you”. It’s arousal in its most raw, pure form.

I’m not the only one with an appreciation for hot noises, the term Ecouteurism is given to the fetish for listening to others having sex without their consent, a ‘sexual deviance’ according to the internet, something to be treated and cured some suggest!
I prefer this interpretation – Ecouteurism is the same for the ear as voyeurism is for the eye.

It’s the reason hearing hotel neighbours though the wall can raise me from a deep slumber with only one thing on my mind. My libido getting an extra stoke from the taboo of overhearing a secret encounter, soon acted upon and providing fierce competition through the thin walls, matching decibel for decibel.

Covert voyeurism has the added naughty factor but overtly watching has the double appeal of sights and sounds. Renowned as an exhibitionist, my enjoyment of watching is underestimated but especially apparent when delighting in the shame face of a cute girl that accompanies her noises of objection. Those humiliated squeals that increase in urgency and pitch as her fate is sealed; forced to carry out the will of her Dom for the viewing pleasure of those gathered at the party; as if her protests will save her from performing for the crowd.

Knowing consent has already been given and this sweet seemingly innocent girl is getting off on her objectification as much as we are, there’s admiration in how far she is pushed, every cry of reluctance, every squeak of shame indicative of a beautiful power dynamic playing out. The more extreme her verbal unwillingness, the hotter the scene. I want to hear her scream.

My favourite of all sex noises is the shocked exclamation of “FUCK!” as I do something that blows their mind. What starts as moaning encouragement becomes an overwhelmed blaspheme of surprise. The “Fuck of surprise” Almost as if they didn’t know their body was capable of such pleasure and somehow I have unlocked a secret. I revel in the smugness that comes with it, the pride in my abilities and the glow from giving someone that experience.

It’s one thing prompting appreciative “hmmmm”s and confirmations of “Yes, yes, yes”, quite another to force an extended “Fuuuuuck!” with an accompanying look that says “How are you doing that? How do you know how to get me off like that? Fucking wow!”. I have the proud acclaim of being awarded a badge (albeit imaginary) for pleasuring Pup with my hands to the point where she was done, actually done, a giggling silly post-orgasmic mess on the floor, completely spent. It took a wickedly effective combination of turning her on mentally and physically, telling her not to dare to cum whilst ensuring that she absolutely would. My own growls and threats a glorious accompaniment to her symphony, the soundtrack to my accomplishment.

Equally, my man of few words, when not growling, saves his voice for taping into my mind, using his dialogue for threats, promises and names that push my buttons but not always. Sometimes this puppy becomes alpha dog and can induce a similar “FUCK” of surprise and awe, much to my glee.

Sleepy but easily wrestled out of his pyjamas I’m flattered to find him already hard, my simple verbalised desire to give him head enough to stir excitement in his otherwise exhausted body. My entire focus on him and an opportunity for my favourite thing.

With one hand firmly at the base of his cock, pushed against his pelvis, my hot mouth works up and down the shaft concentrating on the tip. My other hand gently wrapped around his balls, gently massaging the sensitive skin of his perineum. As he gets firmer, straining against my hand and mouth he rocks his hips in uncontrollable thrusts, perfectly timed with my rhythmical attention and his accompanying words.